Always Be Found
by caromora
Summary: When Oliver finds Sara at a bar in the middle of nowhere, she has a choice: go back to Starling and face her ghosts, or keep moving in the hope that she'll finally outrun the past. (Set after 2x20, canon divergent)


**Author's Note:** This was written for the 2014 Rare Women fic exchange. Thanks for reading!

* * *

The bar emerged on the horizon like a mirage, its flashing neon sign illuminating miles of dust and cacti—empty desert as far as the eye could see. Oliver rolled to a stop and pulled off his motorcycle helmet. This had to be it. He felt it deep in his gut—the buzz of their connection humming, getting louder.

Sara was here.

He pushed through the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Country music played, low and mournful, from a jukebox in the corner. The few tables scattered here and there were full of other travelers, mostly hard-looking men in motorcycle leathers. And there, sitting on a stool at the bar, was Sara.

Oh, she had on a short black wig, but he'd recognize that body, those shoulders and how tense they seemed, anywhere.

As he approached, she shifted, showing him her profile and the sweet dent he loved so much in her chin. "You shouldn't be here, Olly," she said before turning back to her drink.

He signaled the bartender for the same—whiskey, neat—and eased onto the stool next to her. "Where else would I be?" he asked lightly, not bothering to wonder how she'd known he was there behind her.

"Defending your city."

"Our city. _Our_ city, Sara." What could he do to make her believe that?

Sara shook her head and threw back her drink. "There's nothing left for me there."

"What about your father? Laurel?" _Me_, he wanted to say, but didn't. Maybe he wasn't brave enough.

"They're better off without me."

Before Oliver could answer, the bartender set a glass of whiskey in front of him and glared. "This guy bothering you, Dinah?"

Sara's face went a little pink. "We're cool. Thanks."

He didn't seem convinced. He gave Oliver a stony look and said to Sara, "I'll be over here if you need me." As he went to get someone a beer, he put two fingers to his eyes and then pointed them toward Oliver, the universal douche sign for "I'm watching you."

Oliver stifled a laugh. The bartender was probably intimidating—six foot, long beard, tattoos—but both he and Sara could wrap him into a pretzel if they wanted. "Making friends?"

"Must be my incredible charm." She gave him a wry half-smile, and his heart slammed into his rib cage. She tried to act so tough, but Oliver knew how much she was hurting. "How did you find me?"

"Felicity."

Sara nodded as if that explained everything, and then held up a finger for the bartender.

He brought her a new drink, his gaze on Oliver the entire time. "I know kung fu," he said before returning to the other end of the bar.

Oliver waited until he was gone before smiling at Sara. Her eyes sparkled back at him, and just for a minute, he allowed himself to believe everything would be okay. "Let's get out of here." He threw some bills next to his still-full glass.

"Where are we going?"

"Home. Starling City. Where you belong."

"Olly." She put one hand on his arm, her voice soft. "I can't go back."

"Sara—"

"Sara Lance died the second she stepped on the Queen's Gambit. It just took me a few years to realize that. You need to realize it too."

"But—"

"I'm sorry," she said, pulling on a leather jacket. "Go home, Olly. People there need you."

He grabbed her sleeve to keep her from leaving. "Who do you need?"

"No one." She gently pulled free and left him standing there, trying desperately to swallow past the tightness in his throat.

"Harsh," the bartender said. When Oliver looked over at him, he shrugged. "You gonna let her walk out like that? Pussy."

Oliver watched as Sara moved past the glass window by the entrance, on her way to the parking lot. Something shifted inside him. Was he really going to let her walk away again? No. The bartender—odd and offensive though he may be—was right.

Oliver couldn't let it end like this.

* * *

Sara trotted toward her bike. If she knew Olly—and she did—he'd be out there soon enough, determined to stop her. That was the problem with heroes—they were always trying to save someone, even when the person didn't want to be saved. Even when it was too late.

She sighed at the crunch of boots on gravel behind her and stopped, head down, hands in her pockets. "There's nothing left to say."

"I can't let you go."

"You have no choice," Sara said. When he didn't answer, she turned. He was close, closer than she'd expected. He'd been moving silently through the night. If she hadn't turned when she did, he would have been right on top of her. She shivered at the thought, unsure whether it was anger or desire coursing through her.

"I _won't_ let you go," he said, his voice rough. And the look in his eyes…

Sara took a step back. He took a step forward. "Are you going to stop me?" she asked. Before he could reply, she struck, sweeping her leg out and hooking it around his knee, jerking it so quickly he had no time to react before hitting the pavement.

But that didn't slow him for long. He rolled, pulling her down too, using his momentum to pin her beneath him. "If that's what it takes."

He leaned forward, like he was going to kiss her, but Sara slammed the back of her foot into his leg before their lips could touch. When he grunted and shifted from the pain, she jabbed him with a quick knee to the side and then scrambled back up to her feet. He reached for her but she launched herself across the parking lot and onto her bike. It roared to life, and she floored it to the empty desert street.

As she hit the gas and blew past the speed limit, she thanked god she hadn't drunk much of the bar's shitty, watered-down whiskey. It would take a hell of a lot of that to get someone drunk, and Sara could hold her liquor.

Olly's bike thundered behind her, gaining ground fast. Her heart leapt and then dropped. She tried not to think about it, about how much it meant to her that he kept coming, that he wouldn't let her go. Because it was wrong, she was wrong for him, and she knew it.

He was chasing a ghost. The Sara he was looking for, the Sara he wanted her to be…she no longer existed.

She'd tried for a while. She'd smiled at her dad and joked with Laurel and watched old, corny movies with her mom. On the outside, maybe she'd even seemed the same. But inside, none of the old Sara remained. Only remnants had been left after she got off Lian Yu, and she'd burned those away in Nanda Parbat.

The League of Assassins had molded her into something different, something cold and hard and murderous.

Sooner or later, Oliver would see that. He'd understand that he was the hero of the story…and she was destined to be its villain.

* * *

"Damn it, Sara. Slow down," Oliver grumbled as he flew through the night, pushing his motorcycle past its limits. He wondered how much she'd had to drink, and worried about the fact that she wasn't wearing a helmet. But he didn't stop chasing her.

He couldn't. Not if it meant losing her again. Those few seconds when she'd been pressed beneath him in the parking lot, he'd finally felt whole, as if just being close to her shifted his off-kilter life back into place.

She believed she was broken, lost. And maybe she was—after what they'd been through, who wouldn't be?—but together, they could fix her. They could fix each other. If she'd just give him a chance.

He saw so much of himself in her. Before taking that fateful trip on the Queen's Gambit, before going through the crucible on Lian Yu, he always wound up running at the first sign things were getting real. And this, what he had with Sara? It was more real than anything else in his life. He understood why she'd left, but he wouldn't let her make the same mistakes he'd made. He wouldn't let her give up on happiness, on him, on herself, so easily.

_It's not your decision_, the Sara in his head said. And that, too, was true.

But it didn't mean he'd stop trying.

Ahead of him, Sara seemed to go even faster, if that were possible, and she whooped as her wig flew off. Her blonde hair streamed out behind her, gleaming in the moonlight. Oliver smiled as the sound of her laughter blew back to him on the wind.

She might try to deny it. She might never believe it, no matter how hard he worked to convince her. But there was still joy and goodness inside her. And he'd spend the rest of his days proving it…

If she'd just give him the chance.

* * *

Sara fishtailed into a parking space and waited. The cheap motel she'd holed up in after leaving Starling was a far cry from the 5-star places Oliver frequented. Somehow she didn't think he'd mind spending the night here, even if it did have roach traps beneath the bathroom sink and hard-water stains in the tub. Not if it meant spending the night with her.

He pulled in next to her and cut the engine. When he yanked his helmet off, he was breathing hard, as if they'd been running instead of driving. "You waited for me."

"I had to stop. I'm almost out of gas." It wasn't a lie. She'd had to either come here, where she'd stowed an extra gas can, or keep driving through the desert until her bike ran dry. Either way, she'd have had to deal with Olly eventually. Might as well do it now with a full tank and the ability to escape.

"Oh." He looked so crestfallen, she could barely take it.

"I'm heading in," she said, feeling completely inadequate. "I need some water." And a shower, since she was covered in road grit and desert sand.

At the entrance to the room she rented by the week—on the ground floor for an easy exist—she paused and then left the door ajar. Was it acceptance that Oliver would find his way in, one way or another? Resignation? Or an invitation?

She didn't want to think about it too hard, so she set out two bottles of water and started stripping off her clothes.

It took longer than she'd expected for Oliver to come in. She was in her underwear when he shut the door and hesitated at the sight of her bare limbs and scarred stomach. With anyone else, she might have been embarrassed, but he had just as many scars as she did. With Oliver, she never had to hide, and he never looked away from the parts of her other people flinched at.

That, too, was something she didn't want to think too hard about.

His gaze traveled the length of the room and lingered on the bed. She tried not to see the place as he did—the sagging mattress, the faded carpet with cigarette burns—but she couldn't help it.

"Don't judge," she said.

"I'm not…judging."

"Liar. There's some water if you want it. And protein bars, I think, in my bag. If you're hungry." With that, she walked into the bathroom, where she shed the rest of her clothes and stepped into the shower. For such a crappy hotel, it had surprisingly good water pressure.

She'd just squinched her eyes shut to rinse the shampoo from her hair when she felt his presence behind her. And then his hands on her waist.

"Tell me to go," he said, quiet, half-pleading.

"Would you? If I said you should?" She faced him, searching his features—so familiar, so loved—for answers to questions she didn't know how to ask. There was hunger there, but it wasn't for protein bars.

Oliver's jaw clenched. "Honestly? I don't know. Sara, what are we—"

Digging her fingers into his hair, she pulled his head down, stopping his words with a kiss.

They clung to each other, desperate, as the water surged over them. When it went cold, Oliver picked her up without ever taking his lips from hers and carried her to the bed.

They tumbled onto it, he was on top of her, he was in her, and suddenly she was home. Wherever she went, whatever had happened in her life, Oliver was the one constant.

And that was why she ran and why she had to keep running. How could she drag down someone she cared so much about? How could she watch as he inevitably figured out she was beyond redemption? Seeing it—his eventual disappointment, disgust, hate… It would destroy her more than leaving him ever could.

"Hey," he said softly, stroking her hair. "You okay?"

She must have tensed up. Maybe it was a sign—she should end this now. Tell him to go. Push him away.

"Sara?"

But part of her couldn't. Part of her didn't want to stop. Part of her needed this, him. At least for tonight.

"I'm fine," she whispered and rolled him over so she was on top. "Just don't let me go."

She ignored his murmured "never."

There'd be time to worry about that tomorrow.

* * *

Oliver woke slowly. It was mostly dark, with a few streams of pale light filtering in through the blinds. Morning. Very early morning. Too early to be awake after the night they'd had.

He fought back a smile but couldn't keep it from breaking across his face. He'd found Sara. And then they'd found each other.

Sara. She wasn't beside him, she was gone, she was—

Leaning against the door, arms folded, watching him.

Oliver blew out a breath and pushed down the panic that had almost overtaken him. She was there, right there. It was all going to be okay.

"Come back to bed," he said. And then, "What are you wearing?" Why was she wearing anything? She should be naked beside him, beneath the sheet. But she had on boots, her leather jacket, black pants…a bag slung over her shoulder. "What's going on?"

But before she even said anything, he knew. She was leaving again.

"Don't," he said, trying to put every bit of feeling he had into that one single word.

"Ollie…"

"You don't have to do this." He sat up, ready to throw back the sheet and go to her. Maybe if he held her, kissed her again, she'd—

But he couldn't move.

Incredulous, he glared up at her. "You tied me to the bed?"

"Mmhhm. And let the air out of your tires.

"Sara, I swear—"

"You're a big boy, Ollie. You'll figure it out. I left you the water. And there's a can there in case you need to use the bathroom before you get free." When he let out a low growl, she smirked. "Still want me to stay?"

"Ask me again when I'm out of these zip ties."

The playful amusement on her face faded and she looked down at her feet. "I'll be gone by then. You should go back to Starling. The people there need you."

"What about what I need? Because I need you by my side. Maybe you don't believe it now, but come home and let me convince you. You don't have to do this."

She looked torn, and Oliver thought maybe, just maybe, he'd finally gotten through to her. But then she shook her head. "I've gotta go before it gets too hot out there. See you around, Ollie."

"Sara?" When she paused, one hand on the doorknob, he continued. "I won't give up on you. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I'll never stop trying."

"I know."

She didn't look back, but Oliver thought he saw her smile right before she closed the door.


End file.
